


like wrapping myself in your arms

by boonki



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Merlin is nervous, Merthur - Freeform, Shared Bed, Sleeping Together, happy laundry accidents, shirt wearing, they're both idiots, this is my first fic and idk what im doing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-01-23 11:14:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21319279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boonki/pseuds/boonki
Summary: Merlin accidentally folds one of his own shirts into Arthur's pile of laundry, Arthur wears it to dinner. Merlin steals it back and never washes it, ever again. Merlin continues to "accidentally" leave his clothing with Arthur. Arthur catches on. Fluff ensues.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 36
Kudos: 456





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! This is my first fic ever, so it's more an exploration of fiction writing than anything else for me. Apologies if Merlin and Arthur are OOC, or if the plot doesn't line up with the TV show (the other characters are made up of my own accord). Again, this is a writing exercise for me and my Poor Lonely Heart that just wants some cute shirt borrowing. Please point out mistakes and leave constructive criticism! 
> 
> Thanks! xx

“By the way, Merlin?”

“Yes, sire?” 

“What on earth have you done with my red shirt? I haven’t seen it in ages.”

Merlin paused on his way out the door, a brief look at panic flitting across his features. “I must’ve left it with the rest of my laundry, Sire.” He turned on his heel, facing Arthur to smirk at him. “Besides, you own quite a few, I’m sure you have another to get sweaty in the meantime.”

Arthur’s eyebrows raised, perplexed, ignoring the insult. “You do my washing with yours? Surely that’s not allowed,” he sighed, his face resigning to amused reluctance, “but when have you ever cared for that?”

Merlin grinned.

“Well get on with it then, I need that shirt today, so wash it before bringing lunch, whenever you decide to grace me with your timely presence.” Arthur turned his back on Merlin from where he stood by the window, glancing out at the oncoming party with a sudden bout of seriousness, “we do have guests today, I’d like to remind you.” 

__

In truth, Merlin had been sleeping with it. Well, not sleeping with it, per say, but near it. Near enough to be considered sleeping with it, but far enough that it didn’t look like a nappy. Because Merlin was grown, and didn’t require a nappy. 

He wasn’t sure what possessed him to do it, pick one of Arthur’s shirts out of the laundry and bring it to his face to smell one day. It had smelled...quite a bit like sweat really, but like the forest, like fresh rain in the lower towns, like parchment, like a good day of hard work, like...well, like Arthur.

So Merlin kept it. 

It wasn’t like he was doing anything obscene with it (yet), and not even Gaius had any clue it was tucked under his pillow, so really, Merlin didn’t see the harm in holding onto it. It was the closest he would get to sleeping next to Arthur, anyhow, and although he would be loathe to admit it, the smell had a calming effect on him, lulling him to sleep better than any potion or head injury he ever had. He certainly didn’t expect Arthur to notice it go missing (like he’d said, Arthur had an absurd amount of clothing. That Merlin had to wash. The bloody prat probably decided to sweat extra just to spite him).

His shoulders drooped into the task of laundering Arthur’s shirt, washing out the smell and the time he had spent with it. It didn’t seem fair, taking away the one thing that had brought him solace over the past week, and in the midst of cursing Arthur in his head (a regular occurrence) he knocked his hand into the wood paneling of the bucket, causing cold water to splash out onto his boots and Merlin to drop the shirt back into the murky water. 

“Fuck!” He stood up and grabbed the rest of the pile of clothing, a mix of Arthur's’ and his own, and threw it into the bucket in frustration. Arthur would just have to do with semi-washed clothing. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t just use magic to get everything fresh, but it seemed like cheating somehow, when the rest of the servants put in honest work. Not that the rest of the servants had nearly as much to do as Merlin, but...it still felt better like this. He would sort it all out later, sure that he could pick his own shirts from the bloody kings. Arthur was a little wider (fatter) than him, after all. 

Only the rigorous scrubbing on Arthur's shirts revealed how frustrated he was with the whole damn thing.

__

Merlin didn’t bother to knock, knowing at this time Arthur would be bent over the table studying battle plans, or something similarly ridiculous, if he wasn’t out on the grounds training. A load of laundry slung over his shoulder sat on his hip in a cloth bag, two hands holding up Arthur’s lunch, and Merlin was straining under the weight. 

He kicked the door open.

“I’m glad you’ve finally learned some manners, Merlin.” Arthur deadpanned at him, setting down his papers on the table and giving his full attention to Merlin, who had taken three big steps toward him and dropped his lunch on the table, causing a few grapes to roll away and onto the floor. Merlin crouched down and picked them up, blowing the dirt off and setting them back on the plate. Arthur blinked at him, unamused. 

“Servants don’t have manners, I thought you knew that. We’re all just brutes, capable of grunting and washing the dirt off things.” Merlin laughed, heaving off the load on laundry onto Arthur’s bed to fold. 

Arthur popped a grape into his mouth and shot daggers at the back of Merlin’s head. “Merlin, if all you did was grunt and clean my things properly, my life would be perfect. Really, I think you’d be a better servant if you didn’t talk.” 

Merlin dumped the bag out and started to sort nice clothes from clothes obviously worn for one too many a year. “I’m improving your ability to communicate with the commoners, testing your patience and all that. Think of it as a favor.” Arthur could hear the smile is his voice. He popped another grape. 

“And why is it that you haven’t folded the laundry yet? What exactly have you— are those your shirts?” he swung his legs out from underneath the table and sauntered over to Merlin, “you really do my laundry with yours?” 

Merlin hesitated just a bit, a wave of embarrassment washing over him, but continued to sort. “Well, yes. There’s not a lot of time to do my washing when I’m looking after you, so.. It just seems practical.” He didn’t want Arthur to notice the holes in his clothing, balling his shirts and shoving them back into the bag. He knew Arthur wouldn’t care, would probably get him new clothes if he asked, but Merlin didn’t want to make the gap between them any wider by pointing out the obvious wealth disparity. At this point he was left with Arthur’s shirts, and began folding them to put away. “Oh, this is the one you asked about earlier,” he pointed out, tossing the material towards Arthur’s standing form, still wrinkled. 

“Good, I was planning on wearing it to dinner tonight with Lady Grantham and her daughter. You’ll be coming to that, by the way, so wear one of these shirts you’ve cleaned, I can’t have them thinking you’re a brute.” Arthur walked back to the table, bringing the shirt to his face. His nose scrunched up in distaste. “Although this doesn’t smell very clean.” 

Merlin took the pile of clothes and set them in the wardrobe, dusting his hands off on his trousers as he turned around to indicate that he was done. “Well, they’re clean. And I am a brute, I just told you. Grunting, and cleaning things. That’s what I do.” 

Arthur threw a grape at him, and Merlin laughed. 

"If you grunt during dinner in front of our guests, I'll put you in the stocks for a week." 

"Yes, sire."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thanks to everyone who left kind comments on the first chapter, I appreciate it <3 This one is a little bit longer, and somehow the plot became a little more complicated than I was originally planning (oops). I'll post the last part over the weekend hopefully. Again, I'm sorry if the details of the story are a bit wonky, I'm relying on my memory of the show and writing for fun!
> 
> Enjoy!! :)

Chapter 2 

If the indignation over Arthur not wearing the bloody shirt he specifically asked for didn’t kick him in the gut, the shock at seeing _what_ the king was wearing did. 

Merlin stopped abruptly, almost spilling wine on himself as he stood still in the doorway to the feast, already late from running errands for Gaius. He blinked owlishly, opening his mouth as if to say something, and closing it just as quickly, unsure if it was to stifle a laugh, a scream, or something in between. His grip on the wine tightened ever so slightly. 

Arthur was wearing one of his shirts. 

One of his old, run down, probably-stolen-from-Will shirts. At dinner. With guests. 

“Merlin, are you just going to stand there or would you like to give me some wine?” Arthur, from his seat at the head of the table, looked at him with a mixture of confusion, frustration, and bewilderment, only looking away to smile reassuringly at his guests. Merlin cringed internally, knowing that Arthur was not pleased with him for the late entrance. 

“Yes, Sire.” Merlin started, heart thumping in his chest, but made his way over to the table to do as Arthur asked. He wasn’t going to last through this dinner, let alone serve anyone wine with grace. Did Arthur know that it wasn’t his shirt? Surely he’d have noticed. Arthur could certainly be very daft and dim-witted and blind to nearly everything around him, but surely, he would have thought to himself _‘hm what an odd shirt to be sitting in my closet, maybe this isn’t mine’_. Merlin could feel himself clenching his teeth. 

He watched the red liquid pour into Arthur's cup as he listened to the conversation. “As I was saying, my Lord, we need to create a plan for dealing with these outlaws, I will not permit them to steal between our lands any longer.” Lady Grantham spoke softly, but with a purpose. Merlin took in her appearance. There was nothing extraordinary about her, nothing remarkably beautiful, but her brown eyes shone with clarity, and her posture demanded respect. Merlin thought that this sort of sensitive command over the room was something Arthur could learn from her, not that Merlin didn’t respect Arthur for his leadership among the knights, but her presence expanded far beyond her immediate person. “They were last seen on the northern hills in your lands, and I will help provide food and weapons if you will track them down and lay their petty skirmishes to rest.” 

Merlin stepped back to stand in the shadows and listened attentively, watching Arthur's features carefully for signs of discomfort or unease. (And glancing down at that stupid shirt. It was grey. Did Arthur even own anything grey in his life? He had to know what he was doing. The shirt was near ripping over his biceps whenever he bent his elbow. Not that he was looking at Arthur’s muscles. In fact, he was actively trying not to in an attempt to save himself from mortal embarrassment by spilling wine all over the place.) It wasn’t that bandits were uncommon in the outerlands, but having a nearby Lady come all the way to ask about them.. Merlin suspected there was more to this situation than she was letting on. But, like always, he kept his opinion to himself, letting the situation play out in front of him. 

Arthur sipped his wine in thought. “I would be more than happy to take care of the bandits, my Lady, but we will be able to provide for ourselves, as much as I appreciate your charitable nature.” 

Lady Grantham dipped her head, laden with brown curls, in acceptance. “As you wish, your Grace. However, please come to me if you find yourself in need of provisions.” She shifted in her seat, readjusting her navy blue skirts. Her eyes remained on her plate as she opened her mouth to speak. 

“And, if you would permit me to ask, please bring them to me alive.” 

Merlin narrowed his eyes in suspicion, and quickly corrected his face back to nonchalance. Bring the bandits alive? This would be more than a regular trip out, he was starting to realize. The bandits must have some personal connection to her, but one that she wasn’t willing to admit. He glanced at Arthur, who appeared to be thinking the same, gazing at her in concealed scrutiny. 

“Of course, my Lady.” 

Merlin had to commend him for his improved diplomacy over the years, and a small sense of pride budded in his chest. Years ago Arthur would've demanded to know why, probably causing a scene in doing so. 

She continued. "And, if I can, I would like to stay here until you return. I think it best that the matter be dealt with here." After speaking the words Merlin was sure had been causing her anxiety, she deftly picked up her fork and knife and continued eating. Merlin went to refill Arthur's wine glass again, the bloody alcoholic.

"Of course, my Lady, we would be happy to accommodate you in the castle. I will let my servants know." Arthur shot Merlin a pointed look. Merlin would be the one letting the other servants know then, fantastic. "I will alert my men and we will leave the morning after next." Arthur gave her a reassuring smile, nodding. 

Merlin nearly overfilled Arthur's glass, staring at his arms. 

___

Arthur groaned and fell face first into bed, tossing his shirt on the floor, which Merlin grabbed after shooting Arthur a look of annoyance. 

“Merlin, I don’t know where you got that thing, but please make sure my clothes are mended and taken proper care of. I have a reputation to uphold, and kings don’t wear rags.” Arthur spoke with his head halfway turned into his pillow, eyes closed. 

Merlin gaped at him, wanting to throw the bloody clothes out the window. Arthur was the biggest idiot in the whole five kingdoms that Merlin had the displeasure to know. “Well I don’t see why you didn’t wear the shirt that you had asked for, your pratliness.” 

“Because it smelled weird.” 

Merlin felt something bubbling in his chest. “Maybe, it was because you only gave me half the day to wash it, on top of everything else you make me do.” 

Arthur snorted. “I still don’t see why it smelled weird after you washed it. Time shouldn’t matter, if you wash it, it should be clean.” 

Merlin stood there, blinking, wanting to spell Arthur into a toad. Or an insect. That he could squash. He took a deep breath and turned on his heel, not caring to hide the look of complete exasperation. Bloody shirt, bloody prat, didn’t even notice that he was wearing Merlin’s shirt, driving Merlin crazy. “Says the clotpole who hasn’t done laundry once in his stupid life,” he muttered under his breath, making his way to the door. 

“I heard that!” Arthur shouted at him from the bed. He shifted and propped himself up on his elbow, looking at Merlin now. “And Merlin, please be here early tomorrow, I’d like to talk this whole...bandit thing over. Something seems,” he took a deep sigh and ran his free hand over his face, “not right about it all.” 

Merlin’s agitation eased marginally, grateful to have his opinion on the matter valued. “Yes, Sire.” 

He decided not to slam the door on the way out. 

—

Now that he was alone in his room, he regarded the shirt sitting in the laundry bin with indecision. So Arthur _hadn’t_ noticed the incident, and would never know how it made Merlin feel to see Arthur in his clothes, an almost possessive feeling curling its way around his heart. He gingerly grabbed the shirt by the sleeve and pulled it onto his lap, where he sat on his bed. Arthur would never know, never understand how proud he was of him, and how right it felt to watch him handle matters wearing Merlin’s shirt, as if it were natural that they share clothing. He groaned loudly and fell forward, resting his head on his knees, and consequently, on the shirt. It smelled like Arthur, of course, and Merlin’s heart did something funny in his chest. 

A gentle rapping sounded from the door and Gaius entered without further warning. “My boy, it seems you’ve forgotten to clean the- whatever are you doing?” His eyebrows furrowed as Merlin sprang up from the bed, throwing the shirt back into the laundry bin. 

“Uh, nothing. Just checking that Arthur doesn’t have any diseases, he smells odd lately...like onions.” Merlin's mouth hung open, as if he were willing a more believable excuse to come out. 

“Like...onions?” Gaius raised an eyebrow. 

“Uh, yes.” 

Gaius stared at him for a moment, not believing a single word. “Anyways, Merlin, you haven’t cleaned the floors yet, and I do believe I asked you to do that yesterday.” 

Merlin’s face fell in weary disgruntlement. That’s right. He had forgotten. “I promise I’ll clean them tomorrow, I should really get to bed, Arthur asked me to be early tomorrow.”

Gaius pursed his lips. “Fine, but don’t forget.” He backed out of the room and went to close the door, pausing for a moment. “And Merlin, if you think you smell like onions, you can simply ask, I’d be happy to tell you if you need a bath.” Merlin sputtered and closed the door on the old man, who was chuckling on his way into the main room.

He spun around, wishing for the ground to swallow him whole, and rested his head in his hands. 

Through his fingers, he peeked at the discarded shirt again, mulling it over in his head. It wouldn’t be that weird to sleep with it, right? It was his own shirt, after all. He just could claim to have gotten cold during the night. The material felt softer somehow, when he picked it up again, after Arthur wearing it. He brought it up to his face, and stood there, breathing in the scent of the man (King) he had come to love. His heart turned in his chest, giving permission to surrender to this moment of weakness. He let out the breath he had been holding into the fabric of the shirt, closing his eyes a moment. 

Merlin pulled his own shirt from the day off, casting into the laundry, and slipped his (and now Arthur’s) shirt on, wrapping his arms around himself, head hung low on his chest. Kicking his boots off, he lowered himself to the bed and laid on his side, slipping his feet under his blanket. With Arthur’s scent all around him, arms in place, it almost felt like wrapping himself in Arthur’s embrace, giving in to the warmth and affection spreading through his chest. This shirt incident was going to be the death of him, if Arthur wasn’t. 

Sleep pulled him unconscious in an instant, giving Merlin only moments to listen to the silence where Arthur’s breathing should have been, to his own slowing heart beat thumping in his chest, where the tide of emotions crashed into his rib cage, an ocean quieted by necessity and class. 

The clouds drifted across the dark sky outside, revealing the moon that seemed to whisper to Merlin in tendrils of moonlight drifting through the window, _‘hold on, my sweet boy, these waves will come ashore in time’. _

Merlin curled in on himself, hands gripping the shirt tighter in his sleep.

__

In hindsight, he shouldn’t really be glad that his plan to leave more of his shirts in Arthur’s wardrobe and pack only Merlin's shirts for the trip worked. Because now Arthur wearing his clothing had resulted in Merlin’s shirt being torn to pieces. Fucking bandits. 

“Merlin get down!” Leon yelled at him, swinging his sword into action a moment later. Merlin ducked, just missing an arrow that landed into the tree directly where his head would’ve been. He glanced up at the attacker charging towards him, bow in one hand, reaching for another arrow with his other, until Merlin’s eyes flashed gold and the bandit tripped on the ground, knocked unconscious. Merlin winced, knowing that they were meant to be unharmed. Well, alive. 

It was one of the things they had talked (argued) about a few mornings ago before they departed for the northern hills: whether or not to injure the bandits in respects to Lady Grantham’s wishes. Arthur had been for it.

“Merlin, how are we supposed to bring them back alive? What do you want to do, ask them to come nicely?” He slammed his drink on the table, continuing to pick through his breakfast anxiously. Merlin had sat with him, stealing the bits of food Arthur wasn’t eating, the both of them pretending not to notice the domesticity of the situation. 

“It just seems like there’s a reason she wants them here, and it would make you look bad to bring them back all bruised.” Merlin muttered, chewing on a bit of meat. He could see Arthur’s point; they usually didn’t aim to leave survivors during bandit raids. Bandits tended not to be very nice people. 

Arthur stared Merlin down, as if to warn him not to argue any more. “All she asked is that we bring them alive, and that we can do.” He downed the rest of his drink with some finality, and got up from the table. “I’ve got knights to train and brief in the meantime, so while I’m out on the grounds, please finish my laundry, clean my armor, get this cleaned up, and pack up for a few day’s trip, we leave tomorrow at first light.” He grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. “Oh and the stables, we can’t forget about the stables. And bring something hearty for dinner, will you?” 

Merlin had tried at a sardonic grin. 

Shouting to his right brought him back to the present. Gwaine was shoving back a burly man who was shorter than him, slicing him in the knee and grabbing his weapon from him in one go. “Arthur, this one!” Gwaine yelled, causing Arthur to scramble his way over from where he was tying up another bandit (prisoner). Arthur’s (well, Merlin’s) shirt had been torn down the left shoulder, leaving a considerable amount of Arthur’s chest in the open. His right sleeve was practically gone. One of the bandits had put a good fight while being tied up, and had managed to wrestle Arthur a bit before Percival had stuck a knife in the man’s thigh. 

Merlin took a moment to grieve the lost shirt, and to look at Arthur's chest. He wondered what it would feel like to stick his face on that chest. 

Now was not the time. 

He heaved himself up from his crouching position and observed the playing field. There were roughly 15 of them, most of whom were tied, a few of whom had fled, and just one or two left fighting with Gwaine and Leon. Percival and Elyan had begun to hoist the bandits onto a cart they brought to carry them all, and Arthur was, much like Merlin, surveying the scene. 

Gwaine and Leon made quick work of the remaining two bandits, used their own ropes to tie them up, and handed them off to Percival and Elyan. Leon ran over to Arthur. 

“Sire, what shall we do about the ones who’ve run off?” Leon asked urgently. “They could come back at any moment.” 

Arthur considered this. “They won’t,” he looked at the forest surrounding them, “they have no sense of loyalty, and won’t want to be captured like the rest of them. They know their odds.” He turned back to Leon. “But I don’t want to sit around waiting for them to come back with friends. Let’s start moving south and set up camp at dusk.” 

Merlin followed Arthur's gaze to the surround area. It hadn't been hard to find this group, they hadn't known anyone was tracking them down. It made him nervous, however, to think about who else might be here, and how many there might be. Merlin was sure they hadn't captured the entire group. 

Gwaine joined their group, smiling. "Well at least they'll be quiet for the night." He said, laughing to himself. At the odd looks, he elaborated. "I told them that whoever made noise would lose a finger." He held up a pinky. "And one of them already wanted to test it." 

__

The night fire did wonders on Arthur's complexion, Merlin thought, tending to the stew. Arthur hadn't yet changed his top, a strip of chest still visible, which Merlin had been trying not to stare at all night. 

“Merlin, is there something on me or..?” 

Trying, and failing.

He looked up at Arthur, who had quirked an eyebrow at him, sitting with the rest of the knights. “Only ugliness, your Highness,” he smirked, burying the anxiety over being caught in the act of staring. 

Arthur gaped at him in mock surprise. “You dare insult your King?”

Merlin held back a snigger. “Where's the King? All I see is a dollophead.” He held the spoon up as a weapon. “And if you insult your servant, you’re not getting any stew.” 

The knights howled with laughter at their friendly teasing, used to the banter. Arthur clutched at his heart in pretend hurt. 

It was times like this made Merlin’s heart clench, when it felt like..like they were simply friends. Or more, with how Arthur would gaze at him during the friendly fire, with his heart on his sleeve, making Merlin feel like he was loved. He could be so tender during moments out here under the cover of the woods, alone with him and the knights. But Merlin knew better, knew that Arthur valued him a friend behind closed doors, and nothing more. Merlin’s eyes fell back into the stew, stirring with a purpose. 

A cry rang out from the cart not too far from the fire. “I have to pee!” A general murmur of agreement came from the rest of the bandits. 

“Then you should have gone before you decided to be a criminal!” Gwaine yelled out, earning more laughter from the knights. 

Arthur and Merlin shared a look of unease. Merlin knew it wasn’t right to keep them there for the few days it would take to get back to the castle, but what else were they to do? Untie them and let them run away? Hold them upright while they peed? Merlin shuddered. Gross. Better to let them soil themselves. But, something in Merlin insisted, they were still people who deserved better than to be treated like animals. Criminals, yes, but...people. 

“I’ll untie them one at a time if you want to hold a crossbow to them,” Merlin said quietly to Arthur. He looked up and made eye contact with him, having a silent conversation for a few seconds before Arthur inhaled and looked away.

“Yes, that should work fine.” 

“Will one of you come stir this while I help Arthur?” Merlin addressed the knights, who were looking at him like he had asked them to put on a skirt and run through the town singing. “Oh, you lot, do you want to eat or not?” 

Leon leaned forward. “I’ll do it.” 

Merlin stood and wiped his hands on his pants, making his way towards the cart as Arthur grabbed the crossbow leaning against a nearby tree. “Thank you, Leon.” 

Arthur trailed behind Merlin, knocking an arrow. 

Merlin breathed in slowly, deciding which one to untie first. They all looked fairly murderous and like they wanted to snap Merlin’s neck at the first opportunity. Great. 

“Alright, this is how it’s going to work.” Arthur’s voice sounded behind him, and he glanced back at Arthur’s stern face. His voice was commanding, and Merlin swallowed, that tone going directly to...definitely not his heart. “Merlin here is going to untie you one at a time to relieve yourselves. You’re to go no more than three steps from the cart, and I’ll have my bow pointed straight at the back of your skull the entire time. If you run, or move any way you’re not supposed to, I will shoot you. Is that clear?”

The bandits stared back at him, begrudgingly. 

Arthur nodded at Merlin, who took that as a sign to pick the first person. He stepped to the prisoner nearest him, and grabbed for his arms, turning him ever so slightly to be able to untie his hands. Once it was done, Merlin glanced up at the man’s face, who eyes followed Merlin's every move. Merlin tried to shove the discomfort down and leaned over to untie his feet. As soon as his feet were free, the prisoner jumped out of the cart, and went to undo his pants. Merlin sighed in relief, and turned away to give the man some privacy. 

It all happened so fast: the prisoner lunging to attack him, Arthur crying out and shooting the crossbow into the man’s chest, the man’s knife slicing Merlin’s back as he was pushed, the rest of the prisoners yelling at the man who took their freedom, Merlin falling forward onto his hands and knees, Arthur rushing towards him, the other knights tackling the impaled prisoner to the ground. 

Merlin gasped in pain as Arthur pulled him upright, gripping his bicep tightly. “Well that didn’t turn out well,” he barked out a laugh, and winced in pain. 

“You could say that.” Arthur looked at him in concern, and Merlin could see him scanning Merlin for injuries, eyes coming to rest on the small blooming patch of red in between his shoulder blades. He made a soft noise in the back of his throat that Merlin nearly missed, and was pulling his shirt off before Merlin could stop him, pressing it into a ball and against Merlin’s wound. Arthur’s other hand rested on Merlin’s shoulder. 

Merlin turned to protest but Arthur held him in place. “Arthur, I don’t want to bleed all over your shirt,” Merlin said, knowing full well that it was his own shirt that had progressively become more ruined over the course of the trip. A brief look of confusion glanced over Arthur’s features that Merlin didn’t catch, which morphed into his usual guarded arrogance. 

“Well Merlin, you’ll just have to fetch me another one when we get back to the castle.” Arthur’s mouth was set in a grim line. 

Merlin caught sight of Gwaine walking towards them, hands bloody and holding the arrow. “Well Sire, he’s back in the cart. We took the arrow out of him, the bugger can make it the rest of the way without being patched up." He grinned in indifference. "Maybe.” 

Arthur exhaled loudly, hating that they were breaking their promise to Lady Grantham by letting one man ride into the castle facing death another one without a finger. “It’s his own damn fault.” He muttered darkly, as if he were trying to convince himself of that fact. 

The rest of the knights came to join where they stood, and Leon gave Arthur a funny look, eyes flickering between where Arthur’s hands pressed into Merlin, and back at his face. “Sire, aren’t you cold?”

Arthur looked down at himself, almost as if he were realizing for the first time how shirtless he was, and stiffened awkwardly. “I brought another. Here, will you make sure this idiot doesn’t die of blood loss while I fetch it?” He tossed Leon the bloody rag and the knights suddenly sprang to life.

“Merlin, you're hurt?”

“I thought he just pushed you?”

“You’re bleeding?”

Merlin felt like he was being herded by a flock of mother hens, and found himself sitting shirtless and eating stew by the fire with Elyan pressing careful bandages into his back before he knew it. 

“Lucky for you, the wound isn’t deep. Might be an annoyance more than anything, but try not to fall on your back in the next few days.” Merlin could feel Elyan’s hot breath on his back as he worked. 

"I generally try not to." Merlin retorted around a mouthful of rabbit, sifting through the bowl. He could've sworn he put potatoes in here. 

Merlin’s eyes flicked up and found Arthur staring at him, looking down into his bowl instantly. He had changed into one of his own shirts, which meant a shirt that Merlin hadn't brought. “You brought an extra shirt? I didn’t think I packed you one.” He said to Arthur across the fire. He had packed Arthur an extra shirt, but it was one of Merlin's. 

All the gentle concern Merlin had witnessed over the night disappeared. “Well, Merlin, not everyone can stand to wear the same clothes everyday and live in their own filth, a lesson you might ought to learn.” Arthur shot him a smug smile. 

“You've been wearing the same shirt for three days though, up to tonight, so I guess you and me aren't so different” he shot back, half joking. Something in him wanted to press the truth out of Arthur, why he was being so weird. 

Arthur’s jaw clenched and his eyes shifted away as he lay back down on his sleeping pad, tossing his bowl to the side. “Yes. Well. I’m going to sleep, try not to let any more bandits stab you in the night, or I’ll leave you here to die. The rest of you should also get some sleep.” 

Elyan patted his shoulder gently to signal that he was done, and stood up and walked over to where his sleeping pad was rolled out, giving Arthur a goodnight along the way. Gwaine pushed himself onto his feet and walked over to the cart of bandits to make sure they were still tied up and would stay silent during the night (taking the pinky with him for good measure), Leon and Percival muttering something about taking a piss as they disappeared into the forest. Bowls littered their camp, resignation hitting Merlin as he realized he'd have to wash them all before they left in the morning. 

Merlin stared at Arthur’s face for a moment. Why did he get so touchy over it? Why did he pack an extra shirt when it was Merlin that usually packed the rest of his things? Did Arthur know the shirt Merlin packed for him wasn't his own? Merlin’s eyes flickered down to the fire in thought as he slipped his own shirt back on. Maybe Merlin was just being an idiot, as Arthur loved to call him, and was misinterpreting the whole thing. There was a good chance that Arthur still hadn't even noticed Merlin slipping his shirts in the mix. 

He huffed quietly and laid down on his side, careful not to mess up Elyan’s work, holding the now torn, bloody, and sweaty piece of cloth to his chest. It still smelled like Arthur. 

He would deal with it tomorrow. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Sorry this took so long to get out, depression and work hit me in the face and I was busy editing other people's fics! But here in the final chapter to The Fluff. Thanks for reading my first fic! <3

Merlin, from his position against the wall, studied Lady Grantham’s anxious form as the knights hauled the bandits into the throne room. She stood at the base of the steps to the throne, facing away from the growing crowd, her spine rigid, showing shallow breaths. Curls pinned in place high on her head displayed a pale, smooth neck that gave way to a modest emerald dress. Even with her exuding grace, Merlin could spot the tension laced in the muscles of her neck, her jaw, the way her hands clasped shut.

He knew the feeling of having to conceal fear very well. 

“I believe that is all of them, my Lady.” Arthur addressed Lady Grantham, who forcefully exhaled smoothly and turned her head over her shoulder, the rest of her body following slowly, as if reluctant to face the situation. She looked lost, years coming off her face just for a moment, before the weight of dignity slipped the mask of indifference back on her features.

“Thank you, your highness. I will take a look...” she trailed off shakily, walking towards the bandits, who regarded her with open suspicion and hatred.

The whole room watched as she inspected each face in turn very carefully, mere inches from each of them, turning their heads back and forth with a gentle hand on their chins, not bothering to react when they jerked free of her. When she reached the last boy, who couldn’t have been more than eighteen, she halted abruptly, and the whole room inhaled.

Grief stilled her expression, looking as though her heart had stopped for just a second while her hand slid up from his chin to cup his face. The bandit reared his head back, not caring to hide the look of disgust on his face.

“You, yes, you.” She whispered delicately, seemingly to herself. Removing her hand from where it hovered in the air, she turned to Arthur, tone hardened. “This is the one I need, please remove the rest of them, your Highness.”

Arthur’s eyes flickered between the knights, giving commands in silence. They began to carry the bandits, who were confused into silence, back outside to the cart, to be dealt with later, Merlin presumed. 

In moments the only people left in the throne room were Arthur, Merlin, Lady Grantham, and the bandit boy. Silence hung in the air for a stifling amount of time, and Merlin anxiously shifted from one foot to the other. Arthur didn’t seem perturbed, simply waiting for the scene to unfold.

Finally, she spoke, watching the boy’s face steadily, voice stern but delicate.

“What is your name, child?” 

“Conan.”

“Son of whom?”

“Son of no one.” His voice rang harsh compared to her somber tone. Body curled in on itself, resting on his knees, he stared at the floor as if studying the cracks. It was clear he did not want to take part in the conversation, not even out of curiosity.

She considered this, head tilting to the side slightly. “And how did you get that scar on your ear?” 

His eyes flashed up at her and back to the floor in shock, unaware that she had noticed such a detail. Merlin himself was surprised. Conan clenched his teeth and said nothing.

“You don’t know, do you? I would figure not. Your mother gave that to you, the night she gave you away.” Lady Grantham turned away from him and took a slow breath, hands coming to clench together at her stomach, a nervous tick, a confession of her distress. Merlin heard a sharp inhale from Conan, who looked like he held a million questions that were fenced in by his willful speechlessness. 

“She wasn’t supposed to have you, wasn’t supposed to have fallen in love with anyone. I suppose it is my fault I introduced her to your father, after her marriage. I thought he might...make her happy.” She faulted over her words, regret seeping through. “My sister, she...she held you in her arms and loved you. But her husband wouldn’t have it. He killed your father and would’ve killed you too, if your mother hadn’t bargained for your life. He agreed to let you go, on the conditions that you would never know and she would never see you again.”

“Kept her end of the bargain then, didn’t she.” Conan’s voice lay flat, and Lady Grantham winced. Merlin’s chest ache for her, knowing how hard it must be to tell this story, especially for the first time. For who else would she have told? 

Lady Grantham turned her head towards him. “Yes, and it was one of the biggest regrets of her life. Her dying wish was for me to find you and tell you and...take you in, if you wish.” She pursed her lips and took a steady breath. “I know you don’t know me, but as your...aunt, I’d provide whatever you needed. You’d be given a title, land, money, a family.” 

He spat on the floor, and finally met her gaze. “I don’t need your money. As far as I’m concerned, my family is sitting outside tied up because some lady wanted us found.”

Merlin saw her chest raise sharply, but her face did not betray her. “Family? They would turn their backs on you at the first opportunity.”

“Well didn’t you when I was just a baby?”

Something crumpled at the corners of Lady Grantham’s eyes, and tension filled the room. Merlin felt like even breathing might shatter the glass they were treading on. 

“I never wanted you to go.” She said softly, despair edging at her words. “It was either this or let you die. Trust me, we all felt the pain.” 

“Then live with it.” He seethed. 

Arthur finally cut in, sensing that the damage had already been done. “Alright, I think it’s time for you to go.” A warning laced his words.

He hauled Conan onto his feet and gave him a stern look. If how Merlin’s chest ached was anything to go by, he was guessing that Arthur must also be feeling the weight of the emotional burdens revealed today. (Not that Arthur did emotions very well, he’d just bury it down until it festered into agitation that usually sent Merlin to do more chores.) Merlin shot the back of his head a heartfelt glance before hurrying over to Lady Grantham, who stood shell-shocked in place. 

“My Lady, let me escort you back to your chambers and grab you some food and wine.” Merlin started sympathetically, wanting to reach out and place a comforting hand on her arm, but she held up a hand in refusal.

“There’s no need, I can find the way myself. Thank you for allowing me to speak freely here, I did not think it would end in such hatred.” Her eyes lifted briefly, tears brimmed the edges, but Merlin chose not to notice, understanding that her mask of political friendliness was all that was holding her together right now. He nodded, and let her slip past him. 

Merlin watched Arthur carry Conan outside, and tried to process his feelings, everything swirling around inside him like a sea at storm.

Conan had turned down his birth family, money, a good fortune for...what? The family he thought he had? Then again, family was more than blood, Merlin had learned that much. If Balinor had shown up like that, would he turn his back on Gaius, who was more a father to him than anyone else? He loved Balinor, wished there was more time for them to develop something, and grieved deeply when reminded of the loss and bitter disappointment that had followed, but he also loved Gaius very much, and was willing to sacrifice his life for the old man. Who’s to say Merlin wouldn’t react the same way? But Conan hadn’t even asked her name, didn’t even know which family he belonged to, his loyalty to his bandit friends that strong. Merlin chewed on his lower lip in thought, still rooted in place to where Lady Grantham had left him.

Merlin sincerely hoped that Conan’s choice in family was the right one. Loyalty becomes a funny thing, when the matter is stored in the heart, empty of blood.

Arthur popped his head back in the room, half his body hidden by the door, looking weary. “Merlin, what are you doing? Were you planning on standing there the rest of the evening?”

Merlin shook his head slightly, clearing his mind of the issue, running his tongue over the sore he had worn into his lip. “Just thinking.”

“Well don’t hurt yourself,” he huffed, without his usual bite. “Draw me a bath and turn my bed down, I’ll be up in a few minutes. Grab some food from the kitchens if you can.” And with that, he withdrew from the doorway and left Merlin standing alone. 

__

Merlin had beaten Arthur to his room by a long shot. He had already turned down his bed, warmed the bathwater, brought up food, and was now sitting at the table picking on Arthur’s dinner as he waited. He almost felt like a normal, competent servant (the horror).

He knew he really didn’t have to wait for Arthur, he could always leave and come back in an hour or so to clean up, but curiosity (and bone-deep exhaustion) stilled his feet. What was taking so long?

He had just begun snacking on the skin of the chicken, rolling his shoulders back to test the pain between his shoulder blades, when Arthur opened the door and shuffled in, looking more tired than Merlin had seen him in a long time. Arthur stood in the middle of the room for a second, looking between the bed, the bath, and the food, as if he didn’t know which one he wanted first. 

“Come get some food before I eat it all,” Merlin offered jokingly, testing the waters. He snaked a hand over his shoulder and under his shirt to lightly skim his fingers over the scabbing flesh, relieved when nothing stung. Arthur’s eyes followed the movement, and Merlin could see pain skirting around the edges of his features, but chose not to acknowledge it. 

“...Sire,” Arthur finished for him, finally easing himself down into his chair. Even in his dulled state, he couldn’t resist poking at Merlin for never being formal. 

“Thank you, but I’m not the King, no need to call me that.” Half of Merlin’s mouth turned up in a smile, bemused by his own wit. 

“Hah hah, very funny. Idiot.” Arthur sat across him and began eating, clearly mulling something over in his mind, staring off to the side vacantly. 

Merlin cleared his throat and took a sip of the wine he had brought up for Arthur. “So what did you do with the bandits?” 

Arthur sighed and his lips formed a grim line. “Banished them. Leon made a mark on each of their faces so they would be easy to identify. If they are ever found in Camelot again, they are to be killed.” He paused. “I didn’t want to murder them in the streets in cold blood, that’s not the King I want to be.” 

“It’s not the King you are. You did the right thing.” Merlin followed up quickly, eyes studying the grain of the wood of the table. Silence filled the air, broken only by the sounds of Arthur’s chewing.

“Poor Lady Grantham.” Merlin muttered, trying to ease into conversation again.

Arthur only hummed in agreement. 

Merlin’s chest fell in a small exhale, his eyes still not meeting Arthur’s. He wanted to ask about the shirt. About whether or not Arthur understood why Merlin did it, and wanted to understand why Arthur wore them. Wanted to know Arthur’s elusive heart. 

But couldn’t.

Couldn’t jeopardize this fragile friendship, the barely-there looks of affection, the companionship formed in the depths of the woods. Merlin could live like this, in this capacity with Arthur for the rest of his life. Even if Arthur never wanted more- claps on the shoulder, rough hands pushing him to safety during battle, fond insults, hands messing his hair about, shared meals- it was enough. Merlin loved him enough. 

“I’m going to take my bath alone, and get some sleep. You can clean up in the morning.” Arthur groaned getting up out of his seat, and started to pull his shirt off. 

Merlin took his dismissal and left.

__

Merlin flung the door open, scanning the room for Gaius, spotting him with his head bent over some medicine. Merlin started speaking before Gaius even had the chance to acknowledge his presence, rambling quickly and without waiting for an answer, gathering his things in a knapsack. 

“Do you need some herbs? I noticed you were running low and thought since Arthur is out for the day I could go to the woods and get some, it’d be no trouble for me at all. What do you need? Hogwort? Yarrow? I’ll gather what I see. Anything in particular? No? Great, I’ll see you just before lunch then.” And with that Merlin was out the door in a whirlwind, leaving a bewildered old man behind. 

Merlin raced towards the gates, heart quickening with his steps. He couldn’t wait to be in the peace of the forest by himself, maybe to have a quick heart attack, or puke, or maybe he’d just die. He hadn’t decided yet. 

_-Earlier that morning-_

The comfort of sleeping in his own bed and not on a flimsy piece of bedroll in the woods did nothing to help appease Merlin’s nerves, and walking up the steps to Arthur’s chamber felt like going to battle. Warm light filtered in through the windows, and sounds of servants sending each other morning greetings, heels on stone clipping in the distance, and birds waking up outside sung past his ears, barely registering in his mind. The unexpected shirt in the woods, and Arthur’s terse dismissal last night left him confused and anxious. 

Merlin paused in front of the door, exhaling slowly and steeling himself for a normal conversation. 

Only to open the door and find the room empty, leftover breakfast still on the table, and a blue shirt folded next to it. 

_Who brought him breakfast..?_ Merlin wondered briefly, still standing in the doorway blinking at the scene before him. Thoughts of George flickered into his mind, but were quickly cast out. He stepped in and closed the door behind him by stepping backwards into it, eyes still on the shirt on the table. Chewing on the corner of his mouth, he paced forwards and gingerly lifted it up. It wasn’t Merlin or Arthur’s shirt, no stains were to be found, and a hasty sniff evinced that no one had worn it. It had to be new. A piece of parchment fluttered out of the middle, landing on the floor, a corner of it resting on Merlin’s boot. 

Merlin, still holding the shirt in the crook of his elbow, bent down and picked the facedown parchment up, flipping his hand upside down so the writing was legible. 

_Merlin_, the note read, _I apologize for ruining your shirt during the hunt. I hope this one makes an adequate replacement. I woke early and will be training the knights until lunch. Please bring something edible from the kitchens around then. Arthur. _

Merlin read it, and read it again. He flipped the paper over, knowing it to be blank, looking for more clues. That can’t be all Arthur wrote. 

The realization hit Merlin like a knife in the gut. Arthur knew. Knew that Merlin had been filtering in his own shirts. He knew that he had been wearing Merlin’s shirts, and had worn them on more than one occasion.

_Oh gods._

Intense nerves that felt quite like nausea, or indigestion, or dying, filled Merlin from stomach outward. He held the shirt and letter to his chest, tripping over himself to be anywhere but here, forgetting entirely about the leftover breakfast on the table. 

He needed somewhere to think this over. 

__

The woods were perfectly quiet, with only the warbling of birds breezing through the air. Merlin had begun to calm down, but still couldn’t find the usual meditative state that herb gathering brought. He didn’t know how he was supposed to face Arthur at lunch, knowing that Arthur knew, and Arthur knew that Merlin knew that Arthur knew. 

Merlin took a break and sat on a nearby rock, resting his legs on the damp mossy forest floor in front of him. A look at his rucksack betrayed that he had already gathered more herbs than Gaius would even know what to do with, and guilt crept into his chest at behaving so strangely with him this morning. Not that Gaius would be thrown off by Merlin’s quirks, he was used to them by now. 

Merlin kept staring at his bag, thinking of the shirt hidden underneath the greenery. Should he wear it to lunch, so that Arthur knew he received it without having to talk about it? Should he keep it folded and return it to Arthur and deny the whole thing? Was there any sort of etiquette for this sort of thing that Merlin was sure to miss?

And if Arthur knew and did it because he wanted to wear Merlin’s clothing, share that intimacy, then…was he even ready to take that step? Merlin wasn’t sure where they stood with each other now, and that was more infuriating than anything else.

His stomach broke the tranquil silence, grumbling loudly, and it was then that Merlin remembered that he hadn’t eaten anything before racing out here. A hand came to rest on his unhappy stomach and the other lifted to shield his eyes as he looked for the sun in the sky. The sun was almost overhead, signaling lunchtime, and Merlin still had to return Gaius’ uncalled-for herbs and clear Arthur’s mysterious breakfast. He hauled himself to his feet and prayed that the gods would kill him swiftly on his walk back to the castle and save him from the conversation ahead, but knowing that no such thing would happen. 

His destiny cackled somewhere in the distance. 

__

For the second time that day, Merlin thrusted the door open, looking for Gaius, but with a much calmer demeanor this time. 

“Merlin, my boy, whatever is the matter with you?” Gaius stood from behind his table, looking properly exasperated. Merlin stepped in and smiled sheepishly, making his way to the table where Gaius stood. 

“Is that any way to thank someone who picked you extra herbs?” Merlin joked, pulling the plants out from his bag and piling them onto the table, on top of Guais’s open book, ignoring the growing look of astonishment unfolding on the old man’s face. Emptying his bag out completely, he smiled at Gaius and hastened to his bedroom. 

“Are you sure you’re quite alright?” Gaius called from the main room, the sound muffled by Merlin’s closed door. Merlin threw off his shirt, and pulled on the new one Arthur had given him with a weird sense of deja vu, heading back out past Gaius to get Arthur’s breakfast off his table and replace it with lunch. He wasn’t going to think about the shirt. He just wanted Arthur to know that he had seen it. 

“I’m fine, Gaius, just wanted to help out where I can.” Merlin called (lied) over his shoulder on his way out. He could almost feel Gaius giving him a dubious look through the wood door. 

Merlin nearly crashed into at least three different people on his way to the kitchens, one of whom happened to be Gwaine. He had been rounding a corner too fast, and didn’t see him until it was too late.

“Woah, Merlin, off to see his highlyness?” Gwaine grabbed Merlin by the shoulders, steadying him. Eyebrows lifted high and corners of his mouth turned up left Merlin with the impression that Gwaine was somehow very amused with Merlin going to see Arthur in such a hurry.

He deflected the question, grabbing Gwaine’s hands to release himself from the hold. “How was training?” 

Gwaine pulled a face. “Let’s just say even the toughest of the knights will be sore tomorrow. I think something crawled up Arthur’s ass this morning, he was pissed.” As if to demonstrate his soreness, he began circling his left arm, rubbing his shoulder and moving his head side to side, groaning. 

Merlin imitated a smile. “Good, well isn’t that just great. Better get him something to eat then.” He gave Gwaine a head nod and turned on his heel towards the kitchens, muttering to himself. 

“Merlin, wait, you’ve got…” Gwaine came up jogging behind him, yet again holding Merlin by the shoulders. “You’ve got a bit of forest in your hair.” He pulled a few crumpled half leaves out of Merlin’s hair and a twig. “Honestly, were you wrestling in the dirt?” His smile turned devious. “With one of the maids, perhaps?” 

Merlin swatted his hands away, growing red. “No! I was gathering herbs, for Gaius.” 

Gwaine hummed in mock belief. “Gathering herbs, hm. Good one, maybe I should do that too.” 

Merlin rolled his eyes and stepped past Gwaine, who was laughing behind him. “Good luck with the King,” he called out. 

_Thanks, I will most definitely need it._ Merlin groaned inwardly. 

A few twists and turns in the castle later and Merlin stood outside Arthur’s chambers, lunch in hand. He hadn’t had time to retrieve Arthur’s breakfast, and knowing the mood Gwaine said Arthur had been in, it didn’t bode well for Merlin’s luck to leave with nothing thrown at him.

Without giving himself a moment more to be nervous, he kicked the door open and walked inside. 

“Where have you been? I’m starving!” Arthur apparently had been waiting for him, standing in front of the door like some kind of loon. Merlin had almost dropped Arthur’s lunch on him. 

As Arthur took the tray from him and picked food off, heading towards the table, Merlin replied.

“Well you told me to bring something edible, not to be on time.” He stood there and clapped his hands together awkwardly. 

Arthur sat and shot him one of those looks that made it seem like he was considering putting Merlin in the stocks just for the fun of it. “I’ll make sure to spell it out for you next time. It’s a miracle you can read.” 

Merlin shot him a fake smile that looked more like a grimace, but sobering once he realized that they were bordering the topic of the shirt. The shirt Merlin currently wore. 

“Thank you, for the shirt, by the way.” Merlin sputtered, looking anywhere but Arthur’s face. 

A long pause filled the space between them, and Merlin didn’t know if Arthur was going to accept the gratitude or throw a chicken leg at him. Thankfully, it was the former.

“You’re welcome.”

When Merlin glanced up, he found Arthur’s eyes avoiding his, a hint of a blush creeping up Arthur’s neck.

“So you knew then.” Merlin could feel his heart hammering in his chest. At the rate this was going, he was bound to have a heart attack in the next hour or so unless they cleared this up. 

“That you had been having me wear your shirts? Do you think I’m a complete idiot?” Arthur continued to eat, but more carefully, as if it were the only thing forcing this situation to be normal. A distraction, maybe. Merlin bit his lip and looked anywhere but at Arthur, not trusting himself to answer that question honestly. “You really think I wouldn’t notice? You should’ve seen your face the first time, I thought you’d faint on the spot, the girl you are.”

Merlin chose to ignore the slight. “So why didn’t you say anything?” His voice was serious, and Arthur shifted in his seat.

“I thought you knew that I…” Arthur inhaled loudly, setting down his chicken and wiping his hands off on the linen napkin, thoughts crossing over his face. “I thought you were doing it on purpose.”

Merlin’s eyebrows furrowed. “I was.”

Arthur finally came to look at him, with the carefully guarded face he used for questioning prisoners, or criminals, or, apparently, Merlin. “Why?”

Merlin made a sound in the back of his throat and scratched the hair on the back of his neck. He really, really did not want to answer that question like this. He glimpsed up at Arthur just for a second, who was giving him a ‘_well_?’ look. Oh gods, he was going to die like this. 

“It helped me sleep.” Merlin was rooted to the spot, red creeping up his neck, mortification slowly choking him. 

Arthur cocked his head. “What did?”

Merlin swallowed and decided if Arthur was going to make him say it, he would just say it all, and accept his fate. “The smell of you, on my clothes. I would take them and sleep with them, and it was the best sleep I’ve gotten since I came here. The first time was an accident, really, but then you wore it and I didn’t think you caught on, you can be a little dim-witted at times,” he said the last part quietly, and continued, “and I swear Arthur I--” 

“Stop.” Arthur held up his hand, looking a little lost. His head was turned to the side, and he stayed like that for a minute, lips pursed together thoughtfully. This time when he turned to Merlin and spoke, there was just the slightest hint of fond amusement. “If the smell of me, no matter how odd you are, Merlin, helps you sleep, then I’d rather you not have to steal my clothes. You’ll just have to do with me.” 

Merlin’s lips parted and he blinked at Arthur, uncomprehending. Arthur rolled his eyes and raised his eyebrows at the bed.

_Oh_. 

Just as Merlin was about to respond with something probably very foolish, there was a knock at the door, making Merlin jump. He glanced quickly at Arthur, who looked frustrated to be interrupted, red creeping all the way onto his ears.

Arthur cleared his throat. “Come in,” he called from his seat. 

The door creaked ajar slowly, and Lady Grantham glided in. 

“My Lady!” Merlin exclaimed. “I’ll leave you two to speak.” With one look at Arthur, who looked like he was biting his tongue, Merlin raced out the door and down the steps, heart pounding. He had no doubt that the two of them had very important matters to discuss that he would hear from Arthur later anyhow (or would’ve, if this had been a normal day). 

(This was not a normal day.) 

__

Merlin busied himself with something, not that he’d ever remember what. All he could do was recount their conversation in his head, on loop. The way Arthur had gestured towards his bed, _his bed_, like that was completely fine, totally okay, just a day in the life. 

A strong stench was the only thing that stopped Merlin from nearly running into a fresh pile of horse poo. In truth, he was hiding in the stables, where he knew Arthur would never look, because he hadn’t asked Merlin to clean them out, and Merlin would never willingly clean them out himself. So he was safe here, in the refuge of the horses.

The smell of cooking street food, sounds of children laughing in the street, and focusing on the methodical heave-and-dump of stable work was helping to calm down his heart rate. But every time he paused, he could feel his hands trembling just so, betraying him. For the second time that day, Merlin was dreading bringing Arthur food. He wondered if he could just ask one of the servant boys to do it for him, throwing in a penny or two for incentive. 

He groaned out loud, resting his hands on the top of the shovel, and his forehead on his hands. 

“What am I supposed to do?” He asked the horses. They didn’t respond, but one (must have been Arthur’s) started pooping in place, just a foot or so away from where he stood. He took a step back, screwing his face up in disgust. “Oh good, you too, let’s just make today rough for Merlin, huh,” he muttered under his breath, hoping the horse would pick up on his sarcasm and stop. 

After a while there was nothing left to clean, and Merlin knew that his hiding spot held no more distractions for him, no longer served him a purpose. Resting with his shoulders against a wall, mindlessly stroking of the horses long faces, he took in the small hut. It was immaculate. Some other servant would probably get the credit; Merlin never cleaned it this well. But that was okay, Merlin thought bitterly, he was used to it. 

Pushing himself back into an upright stance, he carried the shovel to its usual corner, and grabbed his jacket, heading outside. He knew he probably didn’t smell great, and his hands were sweaty from the hard work (and the stupid fluttering in his chest whenever he thoughts of Arthur’s suggestive eyebrows. His _bed, _honestly.), but he knew he didn’t have time for a bath before getting Arthur dinner. 

He walked outside, back into the rush of the townspeople, nodding and smiling at the folk who recognized him. Fragrant meats, hardy linens, vegetable stands- these were his people, always would be. Camelot had become his home somehow over the past five years. He wished his Mother could join him and Gaius here, though he knew that she would never be happy watching him throw himself into danger time after time and would miss the tranquil silence of Ealdor. 

And with family on his mind, the person that had just popped into his head came into appearance, stepping out of the crowd to grab Merlin lightly on the arm. 

“Lady Grantham?” Merlin meant to sound pleased, but it came out confused. 

She smiled wisely at him, looking tired. He noticed she had changed clothes since speaking with Arthur, this time garbed in much more common clothing. “Just the person I was looking for. Arthur said that you were hurt, during the trip. I don’t think he meant to say it, but,” she produced a good amount of fabric out from under her cloak, “I wanted to give you this as my gratitude for dedicating yourself to help me, to the point of injury. It’s the finest fabric my kingdom has to offer. Its clothing would fetch a high price, but I’d rather you make something nice for yourself. A shirt, perhaps.” 

Merlin’s eyebrows raised clear off his forehead and he barked out a laugh, turning it into a cough at the last second, and then faking a few more coughs for good measure. “Sorry, excuse me, I seem to have caught a cold. Thank you, my Lady, but there is no need.” _Arthur mentioned that he had gotten hurt? Probably calling out his idiocy. _

Lady Grantham merely shook her head, and grabbed his hand to press the fabric against his chest, so that he was left holding it. The soft amusement slipped off her face. “What would you have done, if you were me?” 

He guessed she was talking about her sister’s son, and he cast his eyes down, lips pulled over to one side in contemplation. “No different than you, my Lady. It took great loyalty to put yourself through something so horrible. To honor those we love is one of the most important gifts we can give them. Your sister would be grateful.” 

She looked him dead in the eye for a moment, sadness tugging down the corners of her face. Merlin saw, then, how heavy the ghost of her sister had been, how much more Lady Grantham wished to say to her. He thought of his father. The dead forget that it is the living who play their cards with pain, and how few win against it. She placed a hand on his shoulder as if she could hear his thoughts, this unspoken sorrow vibrating between them. 

And then she was gone, slipping back into the crowd, masking indifference. 

Merlin looked down at the fabric still in his hands. He guessed a trip back to his room would be inevitable then. Discreetly, striding forwards once more, he took a quick sniff of himself. Definitely would need to change while he was there. 

__

Merlin swore to himself that he would quit this job someday, before the anxiety killed him. Gaius would probably be very disturbed at Merlin’s heart rate and recommend plenty of rest, which Merlin seemed to be incapable of lately without Arthur. Ironically enough, he also couldn’t get rest _because _of Arthur. But deep down, Merlin knew that he’d gladly go through a few heart attacks before leaving Arthur’s side. He’d already been through at least two that day. 

The heavy wood door was closed in front of him. Behind it lay all of Merlin’s worries, hopes, dreams, fears. Did Arthur really mean all of that, with his suggestive eyebrows and gift giving? What if he didn’t and Merlin was just reading things wrong? What if Arthur was pulling his leg somehow, playing a joke on him? 

But gods, what if he did mean it? 

Merlin closed his eyes and took a deep breath, rooting himself in the feeling of his magic flowing through him, extending past his fingertips and circulating into the air around him, static.

Concentrated on the feeling of the warm plate in his hands, the smell of cooked vegetables, the far off tittering of servants at work. Felt his magic extend deep within him, through the soles of his feet and down into the stone floor. _Whatever happens, happens_, he told himself. 

He didn’t knock. (He didn’t before and it seemed like a frivolous formality now.)

Immediately Merlin felt like he was swimming, gulping in the thick tension in the air. Arthur didn’t look up at him from where he was sitting at the table, scribbling away at some important document. When he spoke, it cut into Merlin like a knife.

“Finally, some dinner. Took you long enough, didn’t it? Busy at the tavern, were you?” 

Out of all the emotions Merlin was prepared to deal with, irritation was not one of them. Alas, here he was. He treaded lightly with his words and his steps, crossing the room to set Arthur’s meal down in front of him.

“Where else would I be?” Merlin joked lightly. _Only having a small heart attack at various locations in the kingdom, but really, the tavern. _

Arthur finally looked up at him, annoyance written plainly across his face. “I don’t know, it’s not like you have a coveted position tending to the King. Think of all that you could’ve been doing, like polishing my armour and washing the floors.” Arthur picked up his spoon and used it to motion to the room around him. “I mean look at this place, I don’t think you’ve washed these floors for at least a week. Think of all the dirt that’s on them.” And with that, he began eating, with Merlin still standing there awkwardly, neither of them willing to bring up what they really wanted to talk about. 

“I doubt that would’ve been appropriate in front of Lady Grantham, Sire.” Merlin tried for a smile, resting his hands on the back of the chair in front of him. The room really was not that dirty, Merlin had cleaned it recently, save for maybe the spots that he habitually avoided (who _really _needed the corners cleaned?). “Speaking of which, how was she?” 

Arthur chewed thoughtfully. “Upset, and rightfully so. She came to inform me that she leaves tomorrow morning and thanked me for showing her such hospitality. It’s a shame to see her go so unhappy. I wish there was more that we could’ve done.” 

_I saw her in the market, _Merlin wanted to say, _she told me that you said I was hurt. _

Instead: “I’ll be up to send her off, she was a good woman.” 

Arthur took a sip of his wine and arched an eyebrow at Merlin. “Well of course you will,” he said, “because I’ll have to see her off and I can’t exactly do that by myself. What would I wear?” 

Merlin bit the inside of his mouth, his grip on the chair tightening just barely. “I could think of something.” He said softly. 

Arthur’s cheeks tinted red, and he suddenly was very interested in the assortment of vegetables on his plate. “My own clothes, Merlin.” 

“I don’t think anyone would notice, Sire.” Merlin mumbled, half to himself. 

“Maybe not, but as I said earlier before you ran off like a coward,” his mocking tone turned serious, “I’m not going to wear your shirts any longer.” 

Merlin’s heart was going to beat right out of his chest. This was the time to quit, if he wanted to spare himself the anxiety. He could just turn around, walk out of Camelot, start a new life for himself in a small village between the kingdoms. Return home, see his mother, work as a physician with all that Gaius had taught him, never get romantically involved with anyone, ever again. Die a peaceful death, surrounded by the forest, and drift away into nothingness knowing that his life was not wasted on ridiculous feelings. 

But really, what was another heart attack? He might as well be immortal. 

“Right then, problem solved. It’s not like less sleep would do me any harm.” Merlin’s face was blank, but his insides were storming. 

Arthur pursed his lips and looked to the side, one of his usual faces when he was being pushed past his emotional limit. “Really, with a skull as thick as yours, Merlin.” Arthur pushed up from the table and walked towards his bed, undoing his belt and dropping his shirt to the floor, kicking off his boots in the process. “In you get.” Again with the suggestive eyebrows. 

It wasn’t often that Merlin felt incapable, despite all of Arthur’s jabs and insults, but at that moment, he felt truly...well, incapable. Just standing there, like a dumb goldfish, mouth opening to say something and closing after he realized no words were coming out. They watched each other for a moment, and the world was condensed to that very room.

“Unless you’d rather sleep alone.” Arthur pulled back the covers, looking away from Merlin, a small look of hesitation creeping into his eyes. Merlin hadn’t really considered the fact that Arthur was nervous too, and it was somehow the flame he needed to spring into action. 

He took a step forward, fingers skimming the edge of his shirt. It wasn’t as though Arthur hadn’t seen him shirtless before, it was a little inevitable with all the travel, but he had never had Arthur’s eyes on him and only him. “Right now? Isn’t it a little early?” He could hear himself speaking, a far off echo bouncing around the walls. 

Arthur spared a look at the table. “Unless you’d rather do all the chores that I’ll be missing tomorrow. My swords need sharpening and that food isn’t going to clear itself.” 

“No, no, I just…” Merlin had never felt so incoherent. He dropped his eyes to his hands, still edging at the hem. Well, he had, but it was usually under life threatening circumstances. Which this one might be, with the heart attack and all. 

Arthur’s eyes followed his gaze downwards, and his face softened. His voice lowered a bit, gentle. “Oh, c’mon, off with it.” He sat on the bed and swung his legs under the covers, turning down the other side of the bed for Merlin.

With a deep breath, Merlin shucked his shirt and shoes, and took the few steps towards the bed, stopping just before getting in. Merlin had dreamed of this moment, lived this fantasy in the deepest corners of his mind so many times, but now that it was here, something stopped him. Why was Arthur doing this for him? Why had he worn Merlin’s shirts this whole time? Merlin loved Arthur, and well… Merlin couldn’t say how Arthur felt. 

“Why are you doing this?” He whispered, still sounding too loud to his own ears. 

Arthur sighed and gazed at the foot of the bed, as if searching for his answer there. “It’s not… this isn’t pity, Merlin.” 

Something flickered across Merlin’s face too quick to decipher, but he kept his eyes on Arthur’s face, watching for the truth. “Then why?”

“Why don’t you get in and find out?” Arthur looked at him now, almost shy. He patted the space next to him. 

And it’s not like Merlin was going to say no to _that_. 

He climbed under the covers, making a small noise in the back of his throat when Arthur grabbed Merlin by the armpits and pulled him nearly on top of him, so that Merlin’s face was resting in the crook of Arthur’s neck, their chests pressed together. 

“You’re important to me,” Merlin could feel the vibrations in Arthur’s chest as he spoke, “probably more than I’d like to admit. I thought you had been leaving your shirts on purpose and that this was you telling me something.” 

“Was an accident.” Merlin mumbled into Arthur’s skin. 

“Only an idiot like you would mess up a confession that badly.” Arthur replied, clearly amused. “But I mean it. Merlin, I-” and then Arthur stilled, and Merlin was quietly internally collapsing on top of him. “I think we forgot to blow out the candles.”

Air rushed into Merlin’s lungs, his chest no longer caving in. A small laugh escaped him, out of nervousness or insanity or love, he wasn’t sure. “I’ll put them out.” He untangled himself from Arthur, trying to not take in the situation too much in the light for fear of dying on the spot.

He padded around the room, blowing out on the candles scattered across Arthur’s furniture, grabbing the one from the table to guide his way back to Arthur’s side of the bed (not that he needed it, he could probably make his way around Arthur’s room blindfolded if he needed to).

He glanced down at Arthur, who was looking up at him with such raw affection on his face that Merlin needed to blow the candle out, his chest aching under the weight of the love he felt for the man next to him. 

Instead of lying to his side like he had before, Merlin hooked a leg on top of Arthur’s lap, effectively straddling him, elbows coming to rest to the sides of Arthur’s shoulders. “Is this okay?” Merlin breathed out, taking a hand to stroke through Arthur’s hair. 

Arthur’s eyes were on Merlin’s lips and a small nod was all Merlin needed to close the gap.

Arthur’s lips were chapped and he tasted like wine, but his mouth was warm and Merlin felt like falling into this headfirst, with his eyes closed shut and hands wide open, knowing that Arthur would catch him and never let go. 

The kiss didn’t last long, almost chaste in nature, but so much emotion had been poured into it. _I love you, I love you, I love you,_ Merlin had been trying to tell him, catching Arthur’s bottom lip and sucking. _Only for you, _a hand cupping the back of his head. _I’m so proud of you and will stay at your side forever, _arching his back so they were fully pressed together. 

When they parted, Merlin held his face inches above Arthur’s, and they stared into each other’s eyes in the darkness, before breaking out into laughter.

“Where did you learn to do that?” Arthur’s chest was shaking, and he pulled Merlin down to hold him against it. 

“Mmm probably the tavern,” Merlin joked. 

Arthur huffed out a mocking noise, one hand on Merlin’s back and the other one coming to rest in Merlin’s hair. 

A comfortable silence enveloped them, and Merlin knew that there was still so much to be said, so much fragility in this new development, a tentative step forward towards allowing themselves to be in love. Neither of them were particularly good at this, and Arthur still was learning how to be vulnerable with his emotions, and there was a good amount of logistics to be figured out, but in this moment, wrapped in Arthur’s arms, he knew they were going to be okay. 

And of course Arthur had to break Merlin’s heartfelt contemplation with: 

“Merlin, I hope you know you can’t borrow my pants. I wear the pants here.” 

Merlin knew what he was implying, but saw the opportunity and took it. “I couldn’t anyways, they wouldn’t fit, you’re too fat.” Which earned him a few pinches in his sides, high pitch giggles leaving him as he tried to bat Arthur’s hands away. He could hear Arthur grumbling something indecipherable, but was too busy squirming around to care. 

As they came to settle again, Merlin pressed a gentle kiss into Arthur’s neck. “You’re important to me too, Arthur. I’m happy to be by your side for the rest of my life.” 

Arthur rested his chin on the top of Merlin’s head, taking a deep, contented sigh. Until.

“Merlin, why do you smell like…,” he craned his neck up so that he could get a better whiff, “like horses?” 

Merlin’s chest tightened. “Mucked out the stables.” Mumbling, he turned his face further into Arthur’s neck, reveling in how it felt. 

“I didn’t ask you to do that.” Merlin knew that if he lifted his face up, he would see Arthur’s brows coming together and lips flattening in confusion.

“Maybe I’m a better servant than you think.” 

Arthur hummed in disbelief, and Merlin could practically hear the sarcasm ready at the tip of Arthur’s tongue as he breathed in to speak. 

“Yes, well.” 

Merlin waited for him to continue. 

“Most servants can do their laundry properly.” 

And honestly, Merlin had to laugh. 

__

The air was crisp, light spilling over the sides of the castle in a warm glow, and with the rest of the castle still in bed, the courtyard felt almost ethereal. Merlin took in a deep breath, features set in a stoic smile as he watched Lady Grantham prepare to leave. She looked beautiful, hair set in braids, a dark green cloak billowing out around her. 

Arthur was chatting with her near her horse, too far away for Merlin to hear from where he was standing at the top of the stairs, but their faces showed warm smiles. Merlin was proud of him, for the kindness and selflessness Arthur displayed during her visit. He was making a fine King. 

She mounted the horse, grabbing the reins and turning to leave, looking up at Merlin and giving him a thankful smile before spurring the animal into a trot. He grinned back at her, bowing slightly. It reminded him that the bundle of cloth was still laying on his bed, he’d have to do something with it. (Maybe not a shirt, maybe a neckerchief, or the inner layer to a coat.) 

After her party had cleared from the courtyard, Arthur bounded up the steps to him, a boyish grin plastered on his face. “Don’t think this means you’re getting out of anything, I still expect you to wash that and put it back in my chambers.”

Merlin looked down at himself. He might have chosen to wear one of Arthur’s shirts this morning, hoping that Arthur wouldn’t notice during the rush to get ready. (They had been a little late getting out of bed.) It was white and soft, a deep v-neck. Merlin loved this shirt on Arthur, for many… practical reasons. 

“Also we’ll be needing some breakfast, go and fetch something from the kitchens.” Arthur clapped him on the shoulder and walked past him, leaving him outside. Merlin pulled a face and turned on his heel. 

Good to know that not everything had changed, then. 

He was keeping this shirt though.


End file.
